Abbey Hall
Copyright© 2025 by Tedbiker
Chapter 8
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 8 - Ralph, the 18 yo son of a Committee advisor, is given the task of developing a neglected country estate. He has much to do, and needs support in doing it. This is the story of acquiring the help, female, sexy, attractive help, and how their relationships grow and the work develops.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Post Apocalypse Harem First Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy
Bex set off to fetch the doctor even before I got to the breakfast table. I suspect that may have been as part of a conspiracy by the girls to make sure I didn’t insist on making the journey. In any event, she returned with the doctor a few minutes past ten. That was just before Rosie was going to make coffee and bring it to me so I could give her a semen injection, so to speak. As a result, I sat with everyone, and the doctor, in the kitchen while she enjoyed her first cup of coffee in several years.
She then went upstairs with Mary and Lottie, and spent the better part of an hour examining the poor girl. She also took several vials of blood for testing, injected a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and left a ten day supply of capsules. As soon as she finished with Mary, we had to fetch Bex for her checkup, by which time it was time for lunch. We explained that we had our main meal in the evening. She smiled. “I usually have a sandwich in the middle of the day, anyway. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
After lunch, she left to open her surgery in the village. Word had obviously circulated as she had a large attendance. Since she was gone for the afternoon, Rosie got the ‘sperm injection’ she’d missed in the morning. As for me? I’ll admit I’d missed the interlude as well.
That evening, the doctor sat with us at the kitchen table to eat one of Lottie’s excellent meals, followed by one of Rosie’s cakes. She sat with us in the lounge, listening to music, an almost ancient thirty-three rpm vinyl record of Artur Rubenstein playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A. When it ended, she went upstairs to her guest room before Lisa came to claim me for the night. Lisa, like Rosie, was not adventurous, but she did enjoy sex, preferring a somewhat submissive role, missionary or spoons, rather than female superior.
I took a great pleasure in what she called the ‘freckle inventory’. Basically, kissing every freckle, though I never completed the tour before she wanted me to suckle her titties, then move to cunnilingus. I never tired of any part of her.
In the morning, though, the doctor didn’t get to just leave, as we had a succession of visitors seeking her skills. I insisted she’d break for lunch, and stay another night. That evening, she spent an hour listing all the indignities Mary had suffered. I typed the report out on the ancient Remington I’d found in the office, and she signed it, and a copy.
She did make her escape the next day, thanking me, and Lottie, for our hospitality. I suggested that we would be happy to repeat the trip while the snow lasted, and she left. She was riding Stanley, having been assured by Bex that the gelding was much quieter than the feisty mare.
Bex at that point was barely four weeks’ pregnant. I wanted to arrange the wedding, but she protested, pointing out that first pregnancies were most likely to fail. I retorted that there was every chance that a second pregnancy would succeed, and wouldn’t it be nice to stand at the altar before the pregnancy was showing?
As it happened, she did miscarry, at only nine weeks. Even so, she was devastated, and the whole house was subdued.
The thaw began during the week before Easter. From persistent sub-freezing weather, we had wind from the tropics, which raised temperatures above the seasonal average, but little or no sun. Just slush, gloom and drizzle. It was depressing. But one night as I got ready for bed, it was Bex who walked in. “May I try again, master Ralph?” She was still depressed, still subdued.
“Come here, Sweetheart,” I said opening my arms wide. She stepped in, and I wrapped her up, as I’d been longing to do. For the first time since the miscarriage, she cried. I scooped her up and carried her to a comfortable chair in the corner of the room. I sat, cradling her in my arms while she cried out her grief, her loss. She calmed, eventually.
“Master Ralph, this was your child too.”
“Yes, it was, darling. But it’s much, much harder for the mother to deal with,” I said gently. “It wasn’t quite real for me. I couldn’t see anything, feel what you felt in your body. It’s something that begins to be real for the father when he feels the baby move, and it becomes real when he holds the newborn for the first time. Darling girl, if you’re ready to try again, I’m ready too. I really wish you’d married me before, and I really wish you would marry me now.”
“No. Not until we have a viable pregnancy, master Ralph. But thank you. Thank you for your love, your support. I will come to your bed in my turn, and perhaps you’ll come to the stable sometimes and use that old blanket with me.”
So Bex and I renewed our relationship. The first night we made love together since the miscarriage was gentle, slow, straightforward, nothing adventurous. I hoped that her lively enthusiasm would return, but in the meantime, I was happy just to hold her in my arms after our joining.
The following morning was not only the breaking of a mood among the girls, a lifting of a grey cloud, it brought a new development. Mary Thomas had settled in, her bruises had faded, and she’d found a place among the other housemaids, but, quite understandably, she continued to avoid me as far as possible. Anyway, the development was a firm knock on the door. In the office, I heard it, but I also heard Lottie’s footsteps going to answer it. Then, more footsteps, a tap on the door, and Lottie stepped in.
“Master Ralph, there are two men asking for you.”
“Show them in, Lottie, please.”
Lisa, who had just brought my morning coffee, kissed my cheek, and said, “I’ll bring some more, shall I?”
“Yes, please. Sorry about...”
She giggled. “I know. Later.”
Two men stepped in, and I stood to greet them. “How may I help you, gentlemen?”
The older of the two showed me his Police warrant card. “I’m Detective Inspector Alford, and this is Detective Constable Ryan. We received a report that you have an escaped slave here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, Detective Inspector, a couple of months ago ... remember that snow? Freezing temperatures? One of my people found a young woman curled up in our stables. She was terrified, and had been beaten, tortured and raped. Our doctor examined her. I have a copy of her report in my desk, if you’ll give me a moment.”
The man asked, “May we speak to her?”
“I think not, Detective Inspector. She is terrified of men. If you wish to interview her, you will need to bring a woman to do so.”
“We don’t need anything to reclaim an escaped slave.”
“With respect, Detective Inspector, the Committee is very concerned about the treatment of slaves and Indentured Servants. My housekeeper was a slave, and one of my housemaids was IS, but both were emancipated and freed in view of their prior treatment. I insist you produce a warrant, and a woman police officer. If you try to take her without my agreement and her consent, there will be a complaint in front of the Committee this afternoon, of Misconduct in a Public Office.”
“And this will happen how? The Committee listens to you?” I could have cut his sarcasm with a knife.
At that point, Rosie reappeared with another tray. “Thank you, Rosie. Would you please ask Libby and Lottie to attend us here?”
“Is that coffee?” the younger man asked, clearly disbelieving.
“It is,” I confirmed, “and I was going to offer you some. But what I was about to say is that my name is Ralph Hewson.” I looked to see if there were any signs of recognition. “No? You don’t recognise the name. Perhaps Richard Hewson? No? Well my father is the advisor to the Committee on Rural affairs. I am here to report on matters in this area, and my reports go directly to the Committee. Hence the freeing of my housekeeper and housemaid. Now, if you’d like to take a seat, I will offer you coffee – which I was about to enjoy when you arrived – and my housekeeper will tell you about our guest.”
Actually, I think that the fact I actually had coffee, impressed them more than any documentation. I poured coffee, offered milk and sugar, both of which were declined. They accepted the mugs, sniffing the aroma. Sipped. Closed their eyes and sipped again.
Lottie entered the office, followed by Libby.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “this,” indicating Lottie, “is Miss Denham, my housekeeper. She has been responsible for the care and support of our guest. Libby, standing with her, is one of my housemaids, but she doubles as a bodyguard and trainer.”
I don’t think they believed me. Of course, Libby had never been officially designated as a bodyguard, but that is a mere detail.
Anyway, Lottie began to speak, detailing the story of our guest, the condition she had been in on arrival. How she had physically recovered, but still suffered terror at the thought of being in the hands of men. Meanwhile, I found the copy of the doctor’s report, which I handed to the Detective Inspector.
When Lottie had finished, and the DI put the report down with a blank expression, I added, “There is no record of Mary Thomas as a slave or IS. The number she gave us is related to a man who is currently mining in County Durham.”
He closed his eyes, face grim. “It seems I owe you, and Miss Thomas, an apology, Mister Hewson. And we have some work to do.”
“I’m sure it will wait until we finish this pot of coffee,” I offered.
His eyebrows rose, and then he smiled, a genuine smile. “I’ll take that offer as accepting my apology,” he said. “Yes, please.” Then, “You have lovely ladies to look after you.”
“Yes, I do. And no slaves or IS among them. Libby came here on a short Indenture from the Training Centre, but that expired some time ago.”
“We ought to get back to the kitchen, master Ralph,” Lottie injected, “will there be enough coffee?”
I looked at the carafe. I poured three more mugs, emptying it. “I think so, Lottie.”
The two turned to leave, but the DI spoke. “Miss Libby, would you stay? I’d like to hear about the Training Centre.”
Lottie told her, “I’ll bring you a drink, too.”
Meanwhile, Libby was looking a question at me. “Yes,” I nodded with a smile, “unless there’s something you really need to be getting on with.”